Before the Game
by The Book Sniffer
Summary: Sherlock has never been one for parties, but despite this, he and John get roped into going to one hosted for him by Mycroft. Boredom takes hold, forcing them to play the perfect party game:Mafia.


**Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me, it belongs to the BBC.**

**A/N: This story takes place before The Great Game. Thanks to my beta, allegrapf. That's all, enjoy!**

_Come at once if convenient. Bring Sherlock._

_-Mycroft_

John chuckled, remembering the similar text that Sherlock had sent him months before. His phone buzzed again.

_If inconvenient come anyway. _

_-Mycroft_

John and Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's house about half an hour later, after a large argument, John justifying it by saying that it was probably a case from the government, Sherlock insisting that Mycroft might make him speak to "Mummy." The pair walked up to the house.

"I see what you meant about it being extravagant," John said, gaping at the huge house. It was a three-story brick house that must have dated back to the late 1800s. There were large stately grounds flowing behind it, complete with statues, fountains, and a rose garden.

"Yes, my brother was always more drawn to things like this," Sherlock replied, gesturing vaguely around. "He always had a flair for the dramatic."

"And you don't?" scoffed John, wondering why their presence had been required as they approached the front door.

"Do come in!" Mycroft chimed, wearing a polo and khakis. John was baffled by his casual dress; he'd never seen him so casual.

"What are you doing, Mycroft?" Sherlock questioned, not beating around the bush.

"Why do you ask?"

"You are dressed in what you wear when you want to appear normal, you cleared the large stacks of books you normally have lying about and you have something in the oven when it's only four, meaning that you are cooking for a crowd."

"Well done, Sherlock!" Mycroft said pleasantly. "If you must know, I'm hosting a party. People have them when they want to be social."

"I know what a party is." Sherlock snapped. "But I don't know why its necessary for me to be here."

"Why, the party is for you!"

"For the last time, you are not forcing me to have a party at your house!"

"For the last time, yes, I am!" Mycroft replied, looking rather pleased with himself. "You need to spend time with other people. Besides John," he amended. John blushed, but did not add a comment. "The guests will be here in about," Mycroft glanced at his watch, "30 seconds."

Right on cue, the doorbell rang, which Mycroft dashed to get . "Feel free to shoot me any time." Sherlock murmured into John's ear.

"You'll survive." John laughed.

Molly Hooper emerged into the room with a man John had never seen beside her. He had short dark hair and had a mocking look on his face.

"He's gay," Sherlock whispered to John.

"Let her be happy Sherlock. Don't go ruining it for them."

"Did you think I would?"

"This is Jim," Molly announced, "We've been dating."

"For how long?"

"Sorry?"

"How long have you been dating?" Sherlock repeated, growing impatient.

"Oh, I think this is our third date or so..." Molly stumbled.

"A bit early to bring him to a party, don't you think?"

Molly was looking extremely uncomfortable at that and rushed to greet people at the door when it rang. Sally Donovan entered causing Sherlock to mutter, "Does he really think that I'm friends with her?" John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's fussing, would it kill him to be pleasant for an evening?

Soon, Lestrade entered, multiplying the level of discomfort, until Mrs. Hudson arrived. _Mrs. Hudson always seems to make things better, _John thought with relief. Being Sherlock's handler was a tiring job.

"Only one more guest!" called Mycroft, just as the door rang.

Sherlock answered it this time after Mycroft insisted that this party was for him and that her mush play host as well. The door creaked open and John heard Sherlock bellow, "Why the hell did you invite Anderson?!"

The party began with the usual small talk, forcing Sherlock to exchange pleasantries. Under duress, he talked about the weather, pointedly questioned Mycroft on his diet, and discussed the latest news. Food was then served, creating a small distraction, but at about 7:30 the awkwardness of the situation really took hold.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Anderson drawled.

"We could play a game!" trilled Mrs. Hudson. "Although I don't really know many good ones."

"Ooh, we could play Mafia!" Molly said with gusto.

"We are not playing with the Mafia in this house!" objected Mycroft. "The . . . My boss would have my hide if he found out that I'd been with them! What do you think I do all day? Invite them to tea?"

"No, no," laughed Molly, "it's just a party game! I'll teach it to you. In fact," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I want _you_ to be the narrator."

Molly finished debriefing the game to Mycroft, who then walked over and said, "Sit down, everyone. In a circle if you please. You are now townspeople in a town that has a murderer, the Mafia. Night has now fallen and the townspeople are asleep. Everyone, close your eyes." John complied, wondering what the purpose of Mafia was. "Good." he heard Mycroft say.

"Now, I will tap one of you once on the head and that person will become the Mafia." He walked across the room, pausing for a second, then continued moving around the circle.

"I will now tap a different person on the head twice and they will become the Medic." He stopped and lightly touched John's head twice.

"And lastly I will tap someone on the head once and they will become the Detective." John waited, and then Mycroft said, "Will the Mafia please open their eyes and point at the person they want to kill?"

"Very well. Will the Medic please open their eyes and point at the person they wish to save?" John opened his eyes, studied the group and pointed at Sherlock. _He is the most likely first target,_ John justified and closed his eyes.  
"Splendid. And will the Detective please point at the person they wish to accuse?"

John felt Sherlock move his arm beside him and figured that he must be the detective.

"Marvelous. You may all open your eyes."

As John's vision slid into focus, he glanced at Sherlock, who was looking rather smug.

"Last night there was a terrible travesty," Mycroft started, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Anderson was killed when a chandelier fell atop his chest cavity, crushing his lungs. The Medic failed to save him," John looked down guiltily while Sherlock chuckled. "The Detective also chose Anderson to accuse. If Anderson were not already dead, he would provide an alibi and we would take a vote on whether he was guilty, and if the majority thought he was, he would be run out of town, and the game, but unfortunately, that is not possible. Anderson can no longer be killed or accused."

"Dammit," muttered Sherlock, "I wanted to run him out of town and laugh at him."

"It's time for the town to go to sleep again." Everyone closed their eyes and Mycroft said, "Mafia, please choose someone to kill." He paused. "Medic, please choose someone to save." John opened his eyes and this time chose Mrs. Hudson, hoping at the same time that the Mafia had chosen to kill her and that he hadn't. "Detective, choose someone to accuse." John heard Mycroft stand up and say, "You may open your eyes now, townsfolk."

John opened his eyes with the others and Mycroft said, "Last night, Greg Lestrade was found compressed between two of the compact shelving units in the library. The Medic did not choose to save him." Lestrade leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "The Detective has accused Sally of being the Mafia. Sally, what is your alibi?"

"I was... at a stupid party last night."

"Who believes that she is guilty?" Sherlock, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft raised their hands. "Very well, then. She has been run out of town, although she is innocent."

"Who is it?" John whispered to Sherlock.

"Jim, but I want to mess with him for a bit. He doesn't expect that it's me at all."

"Sherlock, innocent people have been killed! How dare you!" joked John.

"No one I care about enough to avenge their deaths."

John eyed Jim, and yearned to know more about him. Even his last name would be helpful.

"And it's night-time again. Close your eyes and go to sleep." John's eyes slid shut. "Mafia, choose someone to kill." He paused. "Medic, choose someone to save." John opened his eyes and pointed to Molly. "Very good. Detective, choose someone to accuse." He hesitated, then continued. "Now it is day and the townspeople may wake up. Last night, the Mafia struck yet again and John Watson was found," he threw John a glance, "dead. His body was discovered in the ruins of the swimming pool, where a bomb appeared to have exploded."

John sighed. "Avenge my death, would you, Sherlock?"

"Naturally."

"Unfortunately, John was the Medic and now that he's dead he won't be able to save anyone. The Detective accused Mrs. Hudson." She gasped in surprise, "Mrs. Hudson, what is your alibi?

"Well, let's see, last night I worked on my crocheting, had a nice cuppa, and then turned in early."

"Who thinks Mrs. Hudson is the Mafia?" Molly, Sherlock and Jim all raised their hands. "It turns out that Mrs. Hudson was innocent, but she has left our town. It is night again. Will the Mafia please choose someone to kill?" John saw who Jim chose this time, since he had kept his eyes open. It was Sherlock. "Will the Detective choose someone to accuse?" Sherlock pointed at Jim, and John smiled to himself. "Good. You may open your eyes now, townspeople.

"Last night, the Mafia struck again and chose to kill Sherlock Holmes. His body was discovered in 221b Baker Street and it appeared that he had been stabbed to death. 33 times. Sherlock was the Detective, but before he was killed, he accused Jim of being the Mafia." John saw Sherlock nod to himself.

"Jim, what is your alibi?"

"I don't have one! It was me!" He laughed with glee.

"I suppose we don't have to vote on that, then," Mycroft said uncertainly.

"Jim? Why would you admit to it?" Sherlock questioned.

"Because I did do it! And there's always a way out!" He mimed shooting himself in the mouth and everyone gave a polite laugh, figuring it was a joke, but exchanged worried looks.

Molly shoved him playfully. "You never killed me," she giggled.

"I had more important people to kill."

Molly uttered a small, "Oh," and turned away from him.

"Molly," Sherlock said to her quietly, "Jim doesn't seem like a stable person." Molly raised her eyebrow. "No . . . I meant that he doesn't seem able to be in a stable relationship!"

"I don't know, Sherlock, at least he pays attention to me," she said coldly.

"He's right, Molly," John cut in. "At least think about it."

She sighed, "Fine, but I think we'll be going now."

Upon hearing this, more guests voiced their agreement, and gathered their things. It was about 9:00 by the time they were all ushered out the door. "Well, that went better than expected," Mycroft said.

"I suppose it wasn't too dull." Sherlock conceded

"How long did you know that it was Jim?"

"Oh, since the first round. He was completely obvious. Although he wouldn't make a terrible serial killer, now that I think about it."

"You wouldn't make a terrible detective either." John laughed.

"Har, har. You wouldn't make a terrible medic. Although I did expect better from you. You didn't manage to save one person." Sherlock pouted, but soon got over it.

"I suppose we had better go then," John told Mycroft, "He's had a case these last few days and hasn't slept much."

"Oh, goodbye then! Remind me to do this again sometime. I should be monitoring my brother's social life more."

"My social life is fine as it is! Remember, I have John!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're right, he does need sleep. I'll let you two go then!"

As John and Sherlock walked down the long driveway, John said, "You see? That wasn't so bad was it?"

"No."

"And to think you practically had a hissy fit."

"I could still have a hissy fit now if I wanted to. At least Anderson was killed."

"You really shouldn't have been so happy about that."

"Oh, I know. And yet I was."

John sighed, "You never change, do you?"

"Why would I? You never change either, you know. Socializing at the party like that? It's like when we first met. You haven't changed at all."

"Why would I?"


End file.
